


I wish I knew you before

by DarkWaterFalls



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Captain jack - Freeform, Casual Sex, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Providence Falconers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkWaterFalls/pseuds/DarkWaterFalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tater sometimes wonders if missing someone is the first step to loving them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wish I knew you before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Schadenfreudessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schadenfreudessa/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Jess! I made you a ~~potato~~ Patater!
> 
> It's weird to think that it's been almost three years since we first talked, eh? Barely feels like anything. I'm not sorry for dragging you into another dumpster fire though.
> 
> Sorry it's a little late too, you know I spent the weekend drinking prosecco and watching the Lord of the Rings whilst hungover. But you seemed to be enjoying yourself well enough, throwing shade at the entire city of Chicago like it was your job.
> 
> Title is from Amy McDonald's song "Mr Rock & Roll", which is very low-key Kent.
> 
> Small edits happened to IRL hockey:  
> \- 2011 All-Star Game happened in Vegas and not Carolina  
> \- Aces won the cup in 2013  
> \- T-mobile arena in Vegas got built and opened a lot earlier than 2016

It’s taken a solid year of steady coaching and prompting, but Jack has eventually relaxed when recording Falconers PR material. Tater’s presence helps, but the constant reassurances and reaffirmed and confirmed promises of the PR department have really been what cinched it. They listen to whatever subjects Jack disagrees with talking about, and carefully takes any of his worries into consideration. So Jack has begun to willingly – and sometimes gleefully - participate in most projects suggested to him.

 

This time Jack and Tater are back in Providence in early August, cutting back holidays (mainly on Tater’s part) and summer training (mainly on Jack’s part) to record a student ticket program video for the upcoming season. Jack is a relatively high profile athlete normally, but he’s in high demand because he studied in the area too.

 

Jack laughs when Tater suggested the topic for the video. Tater feigning ignorance, asking ridiculous college-based questions, and Jack explaining what college was actually like for an athlete. (With a strong emphasis on Tater teasing him about being a good captain and a conscientious student.)

 

Tater is sitting across from Jack - radiating the blithe happiness that Jack’s missed so much over the summer – fiddling with his small stack of question cards and gearing up for the next question. “So, Zimmboni, tell me about college parties. You get into trouble?”

 

Jack laughs softly, “Um, not a lot Tater. You know I don’t drink much.”

 

Tater harrumphs, “make rest of us look bad. Always fresh like daisy in morning, first to practice, coach favourite.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve always been like that. But I was usually the one who people fetched to get people out of trouble, because I was usually reliably sober.”

 

“Aha!” Tater claps his hands together. “Then tell me story about Knight-in-Zimmermann-armour!”

 

Jack presses his tongue up on his palate, and considers his answer. “Okay, but I’m editing out details to not incriminate anyone, and leaving out the boring times I’ve ended up putting people to bed.” He then starts counting things off on his fingers. “I’ve fished one of the other forwards out of the pond when they decided to go skinny-dipping. I’ve carried people home from parties on my back. I’ve had to help people down when they’ve ended up naked in a tree, which wasn’t even dare-related. A player got themselves locked in Faber with only a towel and their skates once, and no one would admit to being responsible. And…”

 

“And?” Tater asks, excitedly.

 

Jack smiles, slightly embarrassed. “I turned a fire extinguisher on one of the local teams when they tried to invade the Haus…?”

 

Tater throws back his head and laughs until he’s gasping for air. “Zimmboni, I’m not think you’re that bad at hospitality!”

 

***

 

Kent swears, a soft, “fuck!” against Tater’s lips as he barks his heel against his bedroom door as he drags Tater through by his lips as much as the hand gripped in his shirt.

 

Tater, blurry and happy, offers, “I kiss better?”

 

Kent gives an unbalanced Tater a half-shove to get him onto his back on the bed, before throwing off his jacket and clambering on top of him on the bed. “I’d much rather you kiss other things better, if I’m honest.”

 

Tater’s hands creep up the outside of Kent’s thighs, curving around his ass as Kent leans in for another kiss. He grabs for Kent’s belt and says, “Glad Vegas hosting this time, hospitality much better than expected. Even if fraternising with enemy.”

 

Kent nips at Tater’s lip softly, “What’s a quick fuck between captains, eh?”

 

“Quick?!” Tater squawks.

 

***

 

“Zimmboni?” Tater asks inquisitively, from his perch on the bench at his stall.

 

“Yes, Tater?” Jack answers, not looking up from where he’s looking through his gear bag for his spare laces. His skates had felt loose last night, and no amount of re-tying had helped. The equipment staff would have spares, but Jack likes his own.

 

“You see a lot of locker rooms?”

 

Jack pauses, hand deep in his bag, and looks up quizzically at Tater, trying to figure out if he had some kind of hidden motive. Seeing nothing, he started rooting again and answered, “I’ve been playing since I could skate, so I’ve seen a few, from the NHL to Mites.”

 

“They all same?” Tater wonders, tapping his water bottle off the bench beside him.

 

Jack stops searching in his bag, hand gripping, and tugs out the pair of laces, considering before answering, “Uhhhh… sort of?” He sits, cross-legged on the floor, and reaches for his skates. “They somehow tend to smell the same - disinfectant and an underlying smell of hockey players that you can’t get rid of, no matter how much you scrub. And the layout is usually similar, medical room, imposing coach’s room.” He starts to pull out the laces with practiced fingers, setting them aside, before lacing up the new ones. “It’s both comforting and worrying at the same time.” He concludes. “Why?”

 

Tater takes a drink before answering, pensively, “I not know much other than NHL and home, wonder how similar things really are.”

 

Jack smiles up at him, “Human beings are creatures of habit, Tater. We’re not that different, no matter where we come from.”

 

***

 

Tater follows Kent through the bowels of the arena, until they come to the Aces’ home locker room. Tater’s maintaining a careful distance from Kent, not too close to arouse suspicion, but not far enough to make Kent think he’s not interested. He’s just had lunch, and is supposed to be bedding down for pregame nap soon.

 

But Kent called, so Tater snuck out. Hood pulled up, hat pulled down, very thankful of how close the hotel was to the T-Mobile arena.

 

Kent shoves his way into the locker room, and marches purposefully towards his stall, turning to wait for Tater as he admires the room.

 

“Why I here Kent?” Tater asks, gambolling over to Kent once he sees he’s waiting. “New pre-game tradition?”

 

Kent smiles softly before stepping close, hand slipping under Tater’s nondescript black hoodie and then tucking under the waistband of Tater’s sweatpants. “Just wanted to make some good memories in this locker room too.”

 

He pulls Tater down for a kiss, soft and slow, and Tater can feel himself melting into Kent again, remembering what this felt like before. “I’m think you already make good memories here,” he says, distracted, “end of last season.”

 

Kent chortles, “Maybe for us, but not for the Bruins or Hawks.”

 

Tater follows Kent jawline with his lips, leaving a trail of kisses, before saying a muffled, “Fuck the Bruins.” Into Kent’s neck.

 

That startles a laugh out of Kent, before it turns slightly breathless as Tater sucks lightly at the skin under his ear. “I wanted to ask a favour.” He manages to force out.

 

Tater straightens up, and softly promises, “Anything.”

 

Kent blushes as Tater stares at him, openly adoring, and stutters through his request, “Could you… blow me… while I’m sitting in my stall?”

 

Tater raises an eyebrow, before asking, “Really make new memories, or just overriding old ones?”

 

Kent nods, then swallows hard, before saying, “We don’t have a lot of time.”

 

Tater smiles, and reaches for the button of Kent’s jeans, popping it open and pulling down the zipper, before sliding his hands back to push down Kent’s briefs. “I make it fast, but you need to sit.”

 

Kent flumps himself down unceremoniously, overheated and pleased, as he watches Tater sink to his knees in front of his stall.

 

***

 

“ZIMMBONI!” Tater bellows through the bathroom door, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the shower.

 

“Yeah, Tater?” Jack calls back.

 

“I’m forget band aids, you have?”

 

There a pause from Jack, then he shouts. “Side pocket of my rucksack, I think?”

 

Jack only has plain ones, not as nice as Tater’s Avengers patterned ones, but it’s nice to know that your roommate will share. Tater will just have to get him some themed ones as a thank you.

 

***

 

Tater is lying back on the narrow bed, watching as Kent get dressed.

 

The beds aren’t large enough for one hockey player to sleep in, but they make it work between them. Making sure they’re doubly careful about who’s around when Kent or Tater exit the other athlete’s accommodation, late at night, carefully creeping.

 

They’d debated getting a hotel, but the extortionate price and the risk of being away when they were needed with their teams was enough to kill that fledgling idea.

 

So, sneaking about. Properly fraternising with the enemy this time, not just joking about it.

 

Kent makes a small noise of annoyance as he looks at his Team USA t-shirt, ripped accidentally up the seam by Tater, in haste to get it off Kent’s body. Kent balls it up and then launches it at Tater’s face. “I’m taking your t-shirt.” He declares, leaning down to fish Tater’s shirt off the floor.

 

Tater watches as his Team Russia t-shirt gets smothered under Kent’s Team USA tracksuit top, but peeks out from underneath the hem, too large for Kent’s smaller frame.

 

Kent finishes dressing and pulls on his shoes, before he leans down and kisses Tater goodbye.

 

He gets a photo sent to him a little later, of Kent in bed, drowning in Tater’s Team Russia t-shirt.

 

And Tater sometimes wonders if missing someone is the first step to loving them.

 

***

 

Jack is edgy, there’s no other way to put it.

 

Not when he’s on the ice, not when he’s with the team, but in the in-between times. The times when he’s not socialising, he’s not in meetings, he’s not doing interviews. The times when he’s wedged beside Tater in a plane seat, or sitting in bed, making a valiant attempt at his history book when he’s very obviously distracted.

 

Tater knows Jack when he’s happy. Jack is never ebullient, but he’s attentive, careful in noticing what’s happening in his team, noting and measuring and enjoying his surroundings. Jack’s still trying, trying very hard to be that version of Jack, Jack the Good Captain, and it seems to be working with almost everyone else.

 

But Tater knows that Jack’s not happy.

 

He’s putting up points, and he’s not happy. He’s doing PR stuff he likes, and he’s not happy. He’s doing charity stuff with his  _ Maman _ , who is looking at Tater with worried eyes and unspoken questions, and he’s not happy. He comes for dinner, homemade pelmeni, and Tater can see the tenseness in his shoulders, the downward drag of the line between Jack’s eyebrows.

 

It’s only when Tater thinks about messaging Kent about the situation that he realises what is wrong. He doesn’t actually message Kent about Jack, because that would cross some sort of line that they have only acknowledged, but not actually approached yet. Tater wants to message Kent because talking to Kent makes him feel comfortable, makes him feel happy.

 

He thinks about the number of times he’s seen Jack with his phone in his hand over the last few weeks, and can barely count the number on one hand.

 

He diverts Jack after practice one day, bullies him into Tater’s car, and drives them back to his apartment.

 

He places a cup of spiced apple tea in front of Jack, and waits until he’s picked it up and drank some of it.

 

“Rookie Jack needs to tell Tater if something happen with girlfriend.” Tater says solemnly. “Took while for me to understand that something happen. Couldn’t figure out what was wrong, until I realise you never on phone anymore, never have laptop open every night anymore.”

 

Jack smiles wryly at his tea cup, and says, “I’m not a rookie any more, Tater.”

 

Tater swirls his tea, causing the dregs to spiral in the bottom of the cup. “You still my rookie. When old and grey, you still be my rookie.”

 

Jack lets off a small huff of laughter, little more than a puff of mirth, but it puts a small smile on his face, before saying, “I don’t have a girlfriend, Tater.”

 

Tater watches, confused, as Jack stands and pours himself more tea. He fishes out the cork mat from Tater’s tea cabinet, and places it down on the table as he pours Tater more tea. He twists the teapot handle until its perpendicular to the table edge, then says delicately, “I have a boyfriend.”

 

They both take another mouthful of tea. Tater feels like he’s gripping the cup like an anchor.

 

Jack plows forwards. “I have a boyfriend, who is currently home with his parents. Who don’t know he’s gay. And he is currently trying to decide whether he’s going to stay with me after he graduates, and if he does, when he’s going to come out to them.” Jack seems to lose momentum at that point, staring into his tea. “Because… he needs to tell them… before I come out.”

 

Tater clears his throat, trying to piece together the information from Kent with what Jack’s just said. “I know?” He asks. “I meet?”

 

Jack nods. “Eric… Bitty. For over a year and a half now.”

 

Tater nods back, and says, “Okay.”

 

***

 

Tater’s been in Vegas for two weeks with Kent, and Sochi is long behind them. The weight of medals and cups has been washed away by the time and distance, and all that’s left is the history, the memory of each other.

 

And Kit.

 

It’s the first time Tater’s met Kit. And he loves her, much to Kent’s delight.

 

He maybe doesn’t love her as much as Kent does, especially when she forces her way between them in bed, but he acknowledges that he’s invading her space and stealing her territory. Making things smell funny, and stealing Kent’s attention from her. But she magnanimously forgives him after a few days, and several petting sessions.

 

So Tater starts speaking to her in Russian, telling her stories about his mother’s cats, telling her about how he met Kent, telling her how much he loves and wants him. Telling Kit is the first step to telling Kent, and Tater’s safe for the moment, especially since Kent just looks perplexed when Tater starts speaking Russian.

 

So Tater confesses his love to Kit, confesses his love in words mouthed to the top of Kent’s spine, nose buried in his hair, warm and happy, and waits until he can confess them properly.

 

But two weeks is much too short, and the end of the summer is creeping closer, so Tater knows it isn’t going to happen this time.

 

But Kent is sitting on the arm of his couch, watching as Tater packs and tries to keep Kit out of his suitcase, glum-looking and already dimmed by the idea of Tater being gone, and Tater thinks _maybe_ _it’s not just me._

 

When the suitcase is closed, and Tater’s Moscow address is stored in Kent’s phone for missing things to be sent on to, Tater steps close to Kent. Steps between his parted knees, and leans down as Kent tilts his face up to meet him.

 

“Won’t be long, котенок.” Tater murmurs against Kent’s lips. “See each other soon.”

 

***

 

Tater opens his door late one December night to find Kent standing outside his apartment, not wearing enough for the weather, and definitely looking frayed around the edges.

 

He knows that the Aces played the Bruins last night, had a free day today, and were due to play the Falcs, so he hadn’t expected to see Kent until their feet hit the ice tomorrow. It was what they did, at least 95% of the time. Hockey first, then each other. Even if it was only a stolen five minutes together before the Falcs or Aces set off elsewhere. There was never enough time in-season, would never be enough time for Tater’s liking.

 

So Kent being on his doorstep meant that something had happened.

 

That something had happened, and he needed to be with Tater. Needed Tater as much as Tater feels he needs him.

 

So Tater peels him from his flannel, wraps him up in the crochet blanket that he keeps on the end of the sofa, and makes Kent some apple tea, sweet and soothing, as he manhandles Kent into his lap. Kent looks a little happier, cheeks a little pinker, but his eyes still look haunted, and he doesn’t say anything as he drinks his tea.

 

Tater just waits, arms wrapped around Kent, holding him close.

 

Kent puts his tea cup down, and turns into Tater’s embrace, burying his face into Tater’s neck. Tater can feel Kent’s tea-warmed hands through his thin t-shirt, and hear Kent’s rapid breathing, quick and sharp, against his skin.

 

Tater continues to wait, as Kent’s breathing settles down and he warms up in Tater’s lap.

 

Kent takes a deep breath, and then blurts out, “I went to see Jack, at Samwell.”

 

Tater hums slightly in recognition, in acknowledgement.

 

Inhale, exhale, against Tater’s neck. “I don’t understand how I can never say the right thing, how it’s never enough, how I was never enough.”

 

Tater starts rubbing up and down Kent’s back, then he hums in thought, and says softly, “What I learn is that people always enough, never more or less than they need to be, котенок. But being enough sometimes more damaging, like moth and flame.” He presses a kiss against Kent’s hair, holding him close. “Being enough is not describing who or what we are, just maybe showing that we in wrong place, with wrong people. No one bad, just not right yet.”

 

Kent lets out a shuddering gasp, and relaxes against Tater, going pliant under his hands. Tater just holds him closer, supports him more.

 

Kent straightens up, and runs his hands up Tater’s chest, before burying one in his messy hair. He leans forwards and rests their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says tenderly.

 

Tater moves his head slightly to brush a small kiss lightly onto Kent’s lips, sweet and apple-tasting, before saying, “Accept apology, even if don’t know what for.”

 

And that makes Kent chuckle, and shake his head with a sardonic smile on his face. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, you know that?”

 

Tater runs his hand up and down Kent’s back again, soothing. “Not about deserve, is about choice,” Tater says simply, seriously. “Choose you, always choose you, and that’s what matter.”

 

Kent’s hands grip into Tater’s shirt, and Tater can see the realisation dawning on Kent’s face. Kent pulls him in for a short, joyous kiss. “Why didn’t you say?” he asks, breathlessly.

 

Tater grumbles slightly, trying to follow Kent’s lips. “I say, not my fault you don’t know Russian.”

 

“Alexei!” Kent admonishes quietly, brushing a small kiss against his chin.

 

Tater settles his hands on Kent’s hips, considering his answer before saying honestly, “I not know if okay yet, if safe to say, know how you feel. If saying maybe push you away, would rather stay quiet forever.”

 

“Tater…” Kent says again. “It’d never need to be forever.”

 

***

 

As Jack sits across the table from Tater, drinking through the second pot of tea between them and explaining what was happening with Bitty, Tater feels a sudden need to explain. A desire to be honest about things.

 

He sends a quick text and receives a response while Jack is in the bathroom.

 

When Jack comes back to the table, Tater asks, “I’m want to ask something, Jack?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm clareithromycin on tumblr.


End file.
